Corruption: We’re all to blame – Ad’Obe Obe
Mr Ad’Obe Obe studied engineering in Germany and philosophy in the United Kingdom (UK). He has lived in Kenya, Ghana, The Gambia and Tanzania, but spent most time in the UK. He was a British civil servant at one point, but became known as a journalist and writer. He was the editor of the London-based […]
Mr Ad’Obe Obe studied engineering in Germany and philosophy in the United Kingdom (UK). He has lived in Kenya, Ghana, The Gambia and Tanzania, but spent most time in the UK. He was a British civil servant at one point, but became known as a journalist and writer. He was the editor of the London-based West Africa Magazine in the late 1980s. When politics resumed in Nigeria around 1999, he was on the campaign team of his friend and mentor, General Olusegun Obasanjo, and subsequently served as a Special Adviser to him. He is more or less retired, running his fish farm in Abuja, but still spends time in the UK, where he has had a home since 1974.
I know you don’t like the title, Chief, but at your age, we should address you as one, don’t you think so?
Well, where I come from – Idoma in Benue – the title is earned; it is not something you just attach to yourself. So it’s not every elderly person that is a Chief.
What is the meaning of Ad’ Obe?
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It means Obe’s father. I am the reincarnation of my grandfather. I was tested and certified as my grandfather’s reincarnation. There are ways of testing it.
My family would call me Obe, that is, father, but if you are not a member of my family you say Ad’Obe, Obe’s father; that is the meaning.
Your father was a formidable man. Indeed, you said somewhere that he is your only role model; why is it so?
He was very interesting. He didn’t go to school but had the fortune of being the brother-in-law to the Och’Idoma. So he had access to income. He eventually became a traditional ruler in our place, not by virtue of his birth, but by influence. He was actually chosen.
He had five wives?
He had five wives; and three of the wives had 10 children each, give or take. Now, 33 of those children are remaining.
There’s a story about how he ‘snatched’ your mother from another man; I don’t know whether that’s the right word to use?
Oh, that is interesting. He was in a paid job. And in those days, there were not many paid jobs.
What was he doing?
He was a road overseer. And the number of people who earned money was very few. The main source of income for most people and access to money was farming, so you can understand what it meant to be employed by the Native Authority at the time. As a road overseer he was quite eminent in his own way.
My mother was on her way to railway station with her husband, and my father snatched her. The story was told me by my mother. My mother said they went as guests to his house and my father started talking to her.
The other one just disappeared?
That shows you the clout he had.
From what I learned, you did very well in school and were supposed to have gone to Lagos, King’s College?
Yes. In those days, there were not many big secondary schools. I attended a very special school where the headmaster was a graduate of the teacher training college in Katsina. So he was exposed, and because of his exposure, he knew about schools like King’s College. So he wrote, and they sent the application form.
So I was admitted into King’s College, and it was quite an experience. I was on the train for three days – a 12-year-old boy travelling from Otukpo in Idoma land to Lagos.
I thought it was very expensive for somebody from your background to be able to afford that kind of school.
No. The primary school I attended was a Native Authority school. So, when I got admitted to King’s College, the NA would give me a warrant to travel. And in those days, local governments were very much involved in the education programme for the children.
You went for an interview and were admitted, but ended up in Zaria or somewhere else; is that right?
If I had known in time, the Native Authority would have given me a scholarship to go to King’s College. In fact, at that time, there was a regional programme for any northerner who was admitted into King’s College to get an automatic scholarship, but I didn’t know about that. So I didn’t go.
But the Native Authority said I had admission to St Paul’s in Wusasa, Zaria. They also gave me a scholarship to go to Zaria.
How was the experience in Zaria?
I spent seven years in Zaria for the West African School Certificate (WASC) and the Higher School Certificate (HSC). It was interesting.
The Northern Region Government had a policy – all the missionary schools were funded 75 per cent by the government. That is why they easily collapsed when the Northern Region said they would either take over or the schools would remain missionary. They were actually government schools because the Northern Regional Government paid for most of it.
After St Paul’s, did you work before going to Germany?
Ah, that was another one. I did science at St. Paul’s, and in the middle of the science, I decided I didn’t want to do it anymore.
So, when my mates were going into the Ahmadu Bello University (ABU), which is a natural process for northerners at the time, I reapplied to do Sociology at the ABU.
I went for the Regional Scholarship Board, and the chairman of the panel asked if I wanted to do Sociology? I said yes.
I had Pure Math, Applied Math, Physics and Chemistry. He said: What do you think you are doing? I said I preferred Sociology, and he abused the hell out of me. He said this country needed scientists and engineers, and I had science subjects. He said they were not going to give me a scholarship. I said fine and went and sat at home. I wanted to become a banker.
Did you go back to the village?
No. I was in Jos working for a bank. I had a relative who was the secretary of the Scholarship Board of Benue-Plateau. The German government offered Benue-Plateau an engineering scholarship.
So he came personally to say, “I brought this for you.” If I refused, he was going to report me to my father that he gave me an overseas scholarship and I refused. I said he should not worry – I would go. So I took the scholarship and went to Germany to study.
What year was this?
This was 1969.
Did you have to learn the German language? How did you fit into the system there?
I went to Germany and asked if I could change because I didn’t like science. The German said, “We promised your country that we were going to train you as an engineer, so we will not allow you to change.”
So you were forced to do engineering?
I was forced to study engineering. I didn’t collect my engineering certificate for about five years after because I went from there to Kenya to study Sociology.
You were teaching Mathematics in Kenya?
That was when I began to teach Mathematics. I went to study in Nairobi University and they said they didn’t admit foreigners. Meanwhile, I had finished my studies in Germany and didn’t know what to do. So I saw an opening for a teacher in Mathematics in Kenya’s equivalent of Nigeria’s King’s College. I went there, and they employed me as a science teacher.
How long did you stay in Kenya?
I was there for two years.
And you still studied sociology, or you went back to Europe?
I went to London and enrolled to study Philosophy. Before that, I also took the exam for the British Civil Service College. I was the only African at the time. I was recruited as an executive officer in the British Civil Service.
How long was that phase of your career?
It was while I was there that I enrolled to study Philosophy in the University College. It was a night study. In fact, I only realised recently that I didn’t even resign. I took a year off to complete my studies. When I completed my studies, a friend of mine asked if I wanted to do something different, and I said I wouldn’t mind doing journalism. So he introduced me to the editor of The Guardian.
I just went to the editor of The Guardian and told him that I wanted to be a journalist. He called his subeditors and said: “This young man says he wants to be a journalist, so try him. He gave me some news items to write a story, and I wrote. The subeditor looked at it and went to the editor, and he said it looked good.
He said the subeditor should go away. I sat down, and he looked at me and said, “You’ve got guts! Do you know how many people in this country would walk into my office and say ‘I want to be a journalist’?” Luckily, you are good. That’s how I joined The Guardian.
So you worked fulltime in The Guardian?
I became a kind of special correspondent for them on Africa. Of course, as soon as my byline appeared, I got exposure to people from everywhere. That’s how I took up my career in journalism.
There was this phase of your life when you were in Ghana, The Gambia and Tanzania. Was it journalism that took you there or something else?
Basically, I was very restless. I was trying to find a level – something to do with myself. When I entered journalism, of course, as a freelancer, I used to meet a lot of people.
I had a book I wanted to write and needed a break. I went to Ghana and The Gambia to write the book.
Which year was this?
This was early 1980s. But the sequence of events wasn’t as clear-cut as I could recall. Well, as a freelancer I got engaged in West Africa. I was a columnist. I was the first person to call IBB( General Ibrahim Badamasi Babangida) Maradona. It became very popular.
As an editor of West Africa, I watched him very carefully. You may not remember that Obasanjo wrote a letter criticising IBB over his Structural Adjustment Programme (SAP), and I gave it a cover. IBB was furious, so he sent the managing director of Daily Times, which owned West Africa, to come and sack me
Was that Peter Enahoro?
It was Yemi Ogunbiyi. But he didn’t sack me; instead, he said I should come to work in Lagos and I refused. That’s how I separated from West Africa. After that, I was free.
That was in the late 1980s?
Yes; 1988 or thereabouts. Two things happened from that. First, his attempt to sack me was illegal and I got the National Union of Journalists to stand up for me.
Of Britain?
In Britain; and because of that, I won a substantial amount of money against West Africa. I felt liberated. So I said I was going to The Gambia to write the book I wanted to write. That’s how I ended up in The Gambia.
How was the experience in The Gambia, a small country?
The country was interesting. I learned from Kenya that very few countries were like Nigeria. They do things differently. It was a good experience. I was there with an African writer called Nurudden Farah. I was just enjoying my freedom.
Did you finally write the book, or you just enjoyed the beaches?
I came back to England, and again, as a freelancer, tried to find my way round. I didn’t finish it, so I went back to finish it in Ghana.
In the meantime, I had become the editor of Africa Forum, so I was interviewing several heads of state. Obasanjo had a United Nations (UN)-sponsored programme called Africa Leadership Forum. The magazine was associated with the African Leadership Forum.
Let’s talk about your relationship with General Obasanjo. You joined his campaign team; at what point in your life did you meet him?
As I told you, I gave his open letter in West Africa a lot of publicity. When he came to London he asked to see me.
That was under Babangida.
Yes.
He thanked me for giving his letters exposure. He asked me what I thought about Nigeria and I said I had issues with the leadership. They are putting their personal interests above national interests. He said he agreed with me totally, so we became friends.
He invited me to the Africa Leadership Forum to start the magazine called Africa Forum. That’s how we became friends.
Was it published in London?
It was published in London, and I was the editor-in-chief. We interviewed many people, including Julius Nyerere, Mandela, Museveni, and Rawlings.
So Obasanjo was basically opening the door for you since he was in touch with those guys.
The magazine was very popular, and we became good friends. But Abacha jailed him.
So the magazine closed down because you couldn’t continue?
The magazine closed down, and when he was released, he came, and I had a special reception for him in London.
He told me that people were asking if he would go into politics, and he was thinking about it.
I remember very well that on August 29, 1999, about 2 am, Obasanjo called me and said, “Ad’ Obe, I want to run to be president, come and join me.”
That’s how I joined his campaign team.
So you moved to Nigeria at that point.
I moved to Nigeria, and that was it.
How was the experience with the campaign?
That was very interesting. I was very close to him. Basically, I was the closest person to him.
Were you writing the speeches and all that?
I was writing the speeches. And I drove around with him. I remember going around with him when they were throwing stones at us in Ijebu.
So he was not popular in the South-West then?
Yes. And most of our communications were very private. I remember in the beginning when we were working on the list of ministers, and he said, “I suppose you too want to be a minister.” I told him that my most important assignment was what I was doing with him.
For the second term, he got a committee, including Ahmed Joda, to advise him on the list of ministers. The committee advised him on people they knew were good choices for ministerial positions. They put my name down, but Obasanjo took his pen and crossed it, asking if they wanted him to commit suicide.
He didn’t want you to be a minister because he wanted you close to him?
Yes; as a minister, I would be away from him. Anyway, all that was very personal.
Some people think it is very difficult to work with Obasanjo; do you agree with them?
It depends on how you approach him. He has a lot of knowledge about issues. He also knows that when a lot of people come to him, there is usually a personal agenda or something like that. I can give you an example: Some young people came to him with a proposal, and he said that if he took the proposal, it would not be good for Nigeria. The young people said they were not about Nigeria but about profit. Obasanjo just drove them away, saying, “I am the president of this country, and I am concerned about Nigeria, but you are only concerned about your profit.”
So, his thinking is often at variance with that of the people who come to him. That is why people see him as being difficult. A lot of Nigerians have very distorted views about how to relate to authority.
It is about what you get?
Yes, what they can get from him. One particular episode in our relationship is interesting. The election in 1999 took place in February, and it was announced that the handover would take place on May 29, so we didn’t have anything to do.
Literally, one night he woke me up and said, “Let’s go round the world. We went to 25 countries in four weeks as president-elect. And he was very personal. We met, not officially.
Did you have the presidential jet to do that?
Yes; we got the presidential jet.
You got it from Abdulsalam?
Yes. And we got some substantial money. He gave us $3 million.
Were you the bagman?
Yes, I was paying for the fuel, for everything wherever we went. One of the most interesting experiences we had was with the president of China. He congratulated us. He wanted to draw Mr President’s attention to the challenges we had, and he said, “Your biggest enemy is human greed.” He told us how this was the challenge for the Communist Party of China. It was because of the tendency of individuals to be greedy that they had such difficulty deciding on the process of their development programme.
Some thought that most development programmes were capitalist; they are anti-capitalism because individuals make a lot of money.
So they decided on a programme that would simply state that “whatever is good for China is good for us to do without necessarily deciding on whether it is capitalist or not.
So they decided that they would have a programme on zero tolerance for corruption in any form. That is why, if you are found guilty of corruption in China, you are dead. That is why the first law Obasanjo made in this country was that of the Independent Corrupt Practices Commission (ICPC). He said corruption was our biggest enemy.
What about the EFCC?
Because the ICPC could not quite match what they wanted, we brought in the Economic and Financial Crimes Commission (EFCC).
As an insider, would you say the Obasanjo government tackled corruption?
When we started, I was writing all the speeches. And there was no speech I wrote that Obasanjo wouldn’t tell me to put corruption there. We were determined to rid this country of corruption.
But speeches are speeches.
No. The ministers were coming to us to say it was only me and Obasanjo that were talking about anti-corruption. Corruption was going around everywhere.
We rewrote the government’s civil service programme. We reintroduced the Tender Board.
But in practical terms, what changed?
We did not do enough to make corruption a moral issue. We needed more campaigns to make corruption a moral issue so that it would not just be a question of arresting somebody corrupt but being able to say that anyone who is corrupt should be ashamed. Our moral position on corruption did not happen.
We made enough laws. For example, part of the ICPC law states that the commission can stop you if you are driving a very posh car and demand how you got money to buy the car. They can come to your house and demand how you got money to build or buy it.
Only three other countries in the world have that kind of anti-corruption law: Malaysia, Singapore, and Indonesia. In other countries, the principle of the law is that you are innocent until proven guilty. It is different from the ICPC law. It is there in the books. And everybody could be probed. But when the National Assembly was to pass this law, they noted that the president was above probing.
He has immunity.
Yes. So they insisted that Agabi, who was the attorney-general at the time, should include the president. Agabi told them that he would include it, but noted that the president’s exemption from being probed was constitutional.
As a very senior Nigerian who has been around and participated in governance for eight years, would you say that these laws have helped us to deal with corruption? Are they just there in the book?
Well, that comes to the functionality of our system and institutions. We were so desperate with how poorly the ICPC was performing that Obasanjo had to put up another anti-corruption agency.
To get institutions to function the way we wanted was our biggest challenge. As far as the establishment of the institution was concerned, we did our best, but the ICPC couldn’t take off.
People say the EFCC was used against opponents; do you think so?
No. What I want you to realise is the determination we had to actually fight corruption. If it had taken off, none of these things would have happened. Everybody knew that things were corrupt, but for us to get the public to get to the bottom of it, you had to go to the fact that when you see corrupt practices, you could see what is happening immediately. Instead of standing up to it, you take your chance, pay your dues, and collect it. We are all contributing to this process.
We still have the whistleblower policy that came after you left, but we are still where we are; why is it so?
All of them got sucked into the problem they were supposed to solve.
Did the leaders – whether Obasanjo or Buhari – really stay consistent on the message against corruption?
They had the moral task of doing things so that the world would know that in their personal lives there’s no such thing.
Did they manage to remain above board?
No comments.
Talking about Obasanjo, for example.
No comments.
What about third term, isn’t it an example of corruption in itself?
What about what?
Third term, trying to actually breach the constitution.
I disagreed with Obasanjo about third term; and that is all I am going to say.
From your experience in government, how do you think we can actually deal with not just corruption but bad governance in this country?
We have been very unfortunate with our leaders. Talking about our leaders and the fight against corruption, the sad story is that eventually, word gets around that those leaders have become involved in corruption themselves.
The records of our leaders, who should be above suspicion, are bad; therefore, they lose the moral authority to challenge the behaviour of anyone who is corrupt; that is all. Instead, many of them would act in a manner that by all descriptions is corrupt. They would use corrupt means to stay in power. So the circle completes, and the whole country is a loser at the end of the day. It is about our leaders.
When we came in, a Sudanese friend of Obasanjo who had known Nigeria for more than two decades told me that the type of people who were coming up for elections in 1999 were not Nigeria’s First 11. And that is because the number of people who are reputable have seen the way these elections have failed. I remember Amadu Ali in particular, who was a senator with Shagari. He predicted that since democracy had taken off the way it did, and given our commitments to make it work, he predicted that things would turn around and democratic awareness would improve, such that the public would be looking for more reputable, better characters than the ones they have now. Five years later, I met him and he said his prediction was wrong.
He said the error was that power was going into the hands of mediocrity. That is a serious breach because it reduces everything to the level of mediocrity.
And they are particularly sensitive. And they will go after anybody who is seen to be in any way superior to them. They will pull the country down to their level, so mediocre values will take over and that is what has happened.
This was the analysis in 1999?
Yes.
What do you think it is now?
Let me put it like this: Anyone who complains about the behaviour of our people should realise that the people who are there came from within our society. And the saying goes, “Every society gets the leadership it deserves.”
You cannot blame the people who are at the top now, who were voted for, so to speak, by whatever means, for being who they are. On the contrary, they are there because the society from which they emanated has a problem.
So it is all our fault?
Damn right; and that is the dilemma we are caught in.
Do you see a pathway to reform or better governance?
Well, I have been involved in discussions like this among my many friends. I used to quote Newton’s law of motion, which states that a body in the process of motion will continue on that motion until another force acts on it. So our calamity is like a motion in a disaster. We are moving down.
We are heading to disaster?
Yes. The question is to conceive a force sufficient to stop it. But quite frankly, I do not see any such force coming up soon. The only thing predictable is that because there are so many things that are fundamentally faulty, a crash is inevitable, an implosion is inevitable. It is not a question of whether or not, it is a question of when. I don’t see any force at the moment that can stop the rot. There has to be an implosion.
You are very close to 80 years; is that correct?
By Christmas time I will be 80.
You don’t watch television?
I don’t watch television.
What of newspapers?
Don’t worry. The news always comes at me. There was a Buddhist monk who once said they identified him as being very happy because his brain was so cool that you could measure it. They asked him why he was so cool and he said he didn’t worry about anything he could not do anything about. There’s one profession that worries about things you cannot do anything about.
Mine?
Journalism; it ruins you. You get worked up about it. You cannot do anything about it. And that is my motto in the departure lounge of life. I try not to worry about anything I cannot do anything about. It just stresses you unnecessarily.
Are people in the departure lounge constantly worried about what they would meet at the other end? Do you go to bed wondering if that could be the last day?
The interesting story is that nobody has really come back from there to tell us what is over there. Everything that is said about over there is speculative.
This morning I was reading a one-one-one theory that states that the brain is not a computer. The brain is a signal point for receiving awareness. The brain is not an AI telling you what to do. What it means is that there is a huge energy of existence around us. The brain picks it up, that is what makes you different. It is not by computation because life is all around us and each person’s brain picks it up. And in picking it up, that is what determines you as a self-conscious person as different from other people. That is always there. You came; you use it. When your brain stops, it is still there, which is one reason for the instinctive belief that there is life after death. It is not that there is life after death; there is life before you and there is life after you. So, you as a person will come, use the vibes, live it and go.
No regrets.
Thank you.
What about family life for you? What are you leaving behind?
On family life, most of my children are grown up, and they are happy.
You had to marry during all these travels; did they give you enough time?
I was married three times. And on the three occasions, each time a lawyer. You have heard of Ayo ( Obe)?
Yes, of course. We all know her, a top lawyer.
When I met my third lawyer wife, I said, ‘you need one lawyer to save you from another one.’
Was Ayo the last one?
No. She was the first.
It must be in the UK then.
Two are Nigerians, one is English. But at the end of the day, by the time you are 80 and looking at all the activities you are involved in, you would realise that practically everything you do has an expiring date. I call it the redundancy effect of life. At a certain stage, when you open your wardrobe and it is full of so many cloths, you would realise that the number you can wear or need to wear is very little. But you have lived a life where you accumulated all these items.
I was thinking about London, where I lived for over 40 years. And as you see, in this place where we are( Abuja), you put things up. Now, I am going to have the advantage of going to be the one to pull it down. But if I wasn’t there, when I go, my children will come. Most of the things that are hanging on the wall don’t mean anything to them.
But on the other hand, when I put them there, it was the show, the effect, the impression, so that you can say, ‘Oh, I got that one from Kenya and that one from Tanzania’ and people would say “wonderful.” It is just the showmanship of life; that’s all. We came with nothing and we will go with nothing.
What drew you to farming, one of the activities you have been doing lately?
I have a big fish farm. I found this area not far from Usman Dam. My practice was breaking away on Sundays when Obasanjo went to church. I used to drive into the bush where I found this place; and I found a farm. So I established a fish farm there.
I colonised the river, a special small river that runs parallel to Usman Dam. And it has kept me alive. It is fun.
It kept you alive because of the activity or the income?
The activity, the passion. I needed a major capital injection for it to take off properly.
So, basically it is now a hobby.
Well, it is more of a hobby than anything else. I spend a lot of time there. I remember that I stayed there during all the six months of COVID. I am happiest when I am there. So, I look forward to seeing you there again soon.